


Of Things Lost

by Launchycat



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Early Days, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Launchycat/pseuds/Launchycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Eden incident was not without its consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Things Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't expect to be writing angst fic any time soon, but this here plot bunny showed up in my head and wouldn't go away. I apologise in advance for any feelings which may occur.
> 
> More explanation at the end of the chapter.

He could feel the ground vibrate under his bare, scaly feet as he sensed the warm-blooded shape of a startled fox dashing through the bushes nearby. It wasn't an entirely new feeling - he had already been introduced to the same set of senses a few days prior. But that had only been a few hours; having this new perspective as a permanent part of his life was going to take some getting used to. He supposed that he should have been glad; things could yet have gone a lot worse. 

He made his way through the forest and in the general direction of the Garden. The humans were likely still living in a cave somewhere nearby, but, even hooded as he currently was, he wasn't planning to go looking for them straight away. Not while they were still scared and weary (and armed, thanks to a certain angel). And he wasn't planning on going back into Eden either – there were no doubt more angels guarding it now, and he doubted that all of them would be as amicable as the one he'd had a chat with the last time he had been there. But he reckoned he might as well head towards familiar ground. 

As he reached the edge of the forest though, he quickly realised that the ground was the only part that still familiar. The Garden – Tree and Gates and everything else – was gone. He scoffed - maybe Above had finally caught on to the fact that leaving forbidden things within arm's reach was a bad idea. He made his way towards it. 

The ground was barren, save for a few daring blades of grass which had started sprouting here and there. There wasn't so much as a pebble left in the vast expanse where Eden had stood a few days ago. If kitchen sinks had been invented, they would no doubt have been gone too. 

He hadn't had a plan for what to do _after_ he'd gotten here. He had just expected that there would be something at least remotely interesting around to serve as entertainment. Instead, there was a quiet forest, and a great field full of nothing. He tried staring at clouds and looking for birds. He tried drawing in the dirt and humming to himself. One day, he told himself, he'd have to come up with of way of passing large lengths of boring time. But for now, he had none, and it was only a few hours before he picked a random direction and started walking in the hopes of finding something vaguely engaging. He found it. 

 

 

Just outside the edge of the empty expanse, there was a dim, but familiar-looking aura. Sitting under the shade of a tree was the Angel of the Eastern Gate, his wings tightly curled up behind him, his expression and posture downright miserable. What's more, something about the way he looked felt _off_ , in a way he couldn't quite explain. 

He started walking towards the sad-looking figure. Not because of some sort of concern or desire to console him, of course. He was a demon, after all. But he was a bored demon, and even socialising with an angel had to be better than putting up with unbearable silence for any longer. 

As he got closer, the angel finally took notice of the demonic aura approaching him and tensed up, anger replacing the sorrow on his face just moments ago. 

"What, you don't reconissse me?" Bless it. He had to remember to keep those hisses in check. "I know the lass- the _last_ time we talked I had a few less limbs, but I would've though -" 

"I know who you are, _Serpent_ ," the angel cut him off, venom in his voice as he spat out the last word, "and I want nothing to do with you!" 

Well, that was one heaven of a moodswing. 

"Excuse me for trying to make conversation," the demon said defensively, crossing his arms. "Did they replace that sword you lost with a stick up your backside?" 

"Get out of my sight before I send you back to the pit you came from," the sitting figure growled, suddenly looking less like a ruffled-up owl and more like a warrior of God ready to put his smiting where his mouth was. 

"All right, all right," he replied, backing off. As much as he wanted nothing more than to argue some more with the holier-than-thou twat, he knew better than to get in a fight with a Guardian of Eden. "Enjoy your sssulking, Cherub." 

"Principality." 

"Yeah, like I care." 

He turned around and stomped away. 

 

 

Serves him right for trying to be civil with an angel, he told himself for the eighth time in the last hour, kicking a pebble into a crystal-clear stream as the sun set in the background. It's just like them to act all self-righteous. All he had done was get given a job and carry it out. Okay, in truth, he'd actually volunteered, but it was that, or stay in Hell with a bunch of angry, freshly-fallen demons. Really, could anyone blame him? 

Besides, all he'd done was talk to Eve. He hadn't even tried to lie to her or manipulate her (he was still getting the hang of those) – all he'd done was use plain-old reasoning. Heaven, it's not like it hadn't come back to bite him anyway. Sure, making her eat the apple had caused a bit of commotion and introduced mankind to Sin; but the fact that it came with a side of free will and knowing the difference between good and evil didn't really tilt the scale in his favour. He'd obviously tried to talk his way out of it, and there were a good few demons who had him in slightly less bad books because of it. It was probably what had saved his occult hide from a much worse fate. But his higher-ups had obviously still felt the need to make a point. 

He didn't need to justify himself to a stupid Principality, anyway. Maybe the reason he wasn't a Cherub any more was because he had been such a poor excuse for one. Losing his sword, talking to a demon – then suddenly refusing to talk to the same demon because... because what? Did he blame him for his demotion? Boo-hoo, he'd lost a rank or two, how terrible. If he knew the things they could do to you Down Below for messing up, it'd send shivers down his little brown feath- 

His eyes widened. 

 

 

It wasn't until the next morning that he found the angel again ( _all he wanted to do was confirm his hunch; that was it; then he'd be on his way again and leave the jerk to his moping_ ). This time, he was sat on a rock, his robe pulled down to reveal his back, which the ethereal being seemed to be trying to reach (and not doing a very good job of it). 

"Aziraphale, wasn't it?" he said from what he hoped was a safe distance. 

"It's Azirapha _el_ ," the angel barked. "What do you want?" 

It was only now that he could see it, with the Principality's wings stretched away from his body. His two remaining wings, that is – underneath them was a pair of long, still-open gashes, which the former Cherub was trying to reach with his healing touch, with little-to-no success. And it wasn't just his physical form that was injured, either. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see signs of similar damage in his aura. 

"Wow, " was all the demon managed to say. 

"Enjoying your handiwork?" 

"They jusst... They just took your wings?" His hood may have been obscuring his features, but that didn't make his consternation any less obvious. Had his face been visible, someone might have even mistaken it for guilt. 

"Oh, don't act so surprised." "Azirapha _el"_ snapped. "As if you didn't know this would happen." 

It was all he could do not to let out a loud gasp. 

"You... you think I _planned_ this?" he asked with a mix of offence and disbelief. 

"No, I'm sure everything just mysteriously _happened_ to work out in your favour," the angel said in a high-pitched voice which was probably intended to sound sarcastic, but did a poor job of it. 

Now that was just rich. 

"Everyth-," he scoffed, moving on from surprise and onto anger. "You think everything'sss been going in my _favour_?" 

He pulled down his hood and watched the Principality's jaw drop slightly as their eyes met properly for the first time. 

"What wasss it _he_ called it?" he continued, not bothering to hold back the hisses any more. "Ah yesss. _A mark to ssserve as a reminder to all who look upon me of my invaluable contribusssion towardsss the fall of man_.” 

Then, of course, in case the mockery in his tone and the painful transformation of his very essence hadn't made the underlying message that even partial failures would have consequences crystal-clear, Lucifer had assigned him as field agent on Earth (without a doubt aware that his new appearance was bound to make things “interesting”, and quite possibly counting on it). Though, truth be told, he couldn't say that he had minded the latter (not that anyone who valued their continued existence would have argued with the Adversary even if they did). 

The angel, no doubt aware of the ramifications of his transformation, simply scoffed. 

“You think that compares to _this_?” He gestured towards the gashes on his back, his voice rising. “Two of my wings are _gone_. I try and move them before remembering they're no longer there. I can scarcely fly any more. Do you know what it's like to lose use of limbs you've relied on your whole life?” 

The demon gritted his teeth. 

“Do I know what it'sss like?” The back of his robe split open.

 

 

There was more to Falling than just an unpleasant impact with the ground and an aversion to all things holy. He could still remember the scent of burning feathers and flesh as he sped towards the ground in a blaze of holy flame. 

It was easy to forget that most angels hadn't yet seen any of their brethren after the Fall, though most would have probably felt that they deserved their fate. This Principality, however, opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes fixed on what remained of once-beautiful black-and-white wings. The skin was red and covered with scars and scorch marks, and what feathers remained were mangled and burned. There were a few signs of healing here and there, but the demon doubted he'd be flying again before the end of the century. 

“Crawly...” 

“ _Don't_ call me that,” he snapped. The name had been insulting enough before. Now it was just rubbing salt in the wound. 

“Gadrie-” 

“Or that,” he cut him off, frowning as the sound of his true name was already making his head ache. 

Awkward silence filled the air. The angel joined his hands together in a nervous gesture. Rubbing his aching head, he winced as he pulled his wings in and miracled the robe back to its untorn state. Then he turned on his heels and sauntered away. 

 

 

He heard murmurs as the Principality considered calling after him, then sighed and thought better of it. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't have turned around if he _had_ called. He'd only gone to talk to him in the first place because he was bored, and it had become painfully obvious that continuing to talk to him was more trouble than it was worth. He was a demon. He didn't just do “friendly” for friendliness' sake. As the same angel had been so eager to point out not long ago, it just wasn't in his nature. And, for that matter, neither was feeling guilty. 

He spared a glance over his shoulder. “Azirapha _el”_ had gone back to trying to reach his wounds, face contorted in pain as pulling his arm towards one pulled open the other one. 

“You're an embarrassment to winged creatures everywhere,” the demon called out as he made his way back towards him. 

“I beg your pardon?” the angel scoffed. 

“I think I saw a couple of robins hanging their heads in shame,” he continued as he stopped about a foot in front of him. “Now are you going to turn around, or what?” 

“If you think I'm going to let a _demon_ -” 

“Either you let the demon fix you up – and, by the way, before you get any ideas, I'm not doing this for you; I'm doing this because, as someone marginally related to you, I don't want you ruining my reputation on Earth before I've even had a chance to get one,“ he carried on undeterred, “ _or_ you can deal with unbearable pain for a good few weeks; maybe even catch one of those infections I hear are kicking about.” 

“I should smite you where you stand,” the angel said with a frown before turning around anyway. 

“You should, but then you'll have a tale to tell Upstairs about how illness got you discorporated because you were too _prideful_ to accept help.” He put out his hands and held them just above the wounds. 

“That's not – Ow!” The angel winced as the demon's hands started glowing, and then cringed further as flesh and essence alike started mending. 

“Sorry, didn't catch that,” he said with a smirk as he continued healing. Being of angelic stock meant he was as capable of healing as any angel, but being a demon also meant that, even with his best effort, enough occult energy seeped through to make the process uncomfortable for an ethereal being. Although it was also entirely possible that he had let a bit more of it seep through than was strictly necessary. 

“So,” Aziraphael asked, seemingly letting the gesture slide and moving on to a different subject, “What _do_ I call you?” 

The demon was surprised to realise that he hadn't put much thought into it. 

“I'll... have to get back to you on that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic idea basically came to me when I realised that Cherubs have four wings (the angels guarding the Gates of Eden were cherubs), but Aziraphale is usually depicted with two (I couldn't find anything on the subject of Principality wings, but for the purpose of this and my other GO fics, I'm going to assume two wings). This kind of led to the natural conclusion that the demotion lost him a set, which got me thinking that, actually, even if he still had a pair of functional wings, losing two of your limbs would be a pretty damn unpleasant experience.
> 
> I then also went and added some Crowley backstory in there, because the main fic I'm writing at the moment ([Don't You Worry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/868927/chapters/1668085)) has had me thinking about that stuff a fair bit. And I use Gadreel/Gadriel as Crowley's true name because the book of Enoch mentions Gadreel as being the demon responsible for the Original Sin.


End file.
